


Sunburn In My Eyes

by blotsandcreases



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Gen, Harrenhal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blotsandcreases/pseuds/blotsandcreases
Summary: “In the beginning,” Shella told the pomegranate she was arranging, “Harrenhal was ruined. It all started there. It was ruined for the realm to be born.”“No,” Minisa laughed, playfully sprinkling Shella’s face with the water for Minisa’s flowers. “No. Everything started with a beam of sunlight.”[Revised version from tumblr.]





	Sunburn In My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Revised version from tumblr.
> 
> Title from Tinashe's _Sunburn_.

_Lady Whent, last of her line, who dwelt with her ghosts in the cavernous vaults of Harrenhal._

\-- Catelyn V, A Game of Thrones

*

“In the beginning,” said Shella, “there is a ruin.”

“Once upon a time,” the girl, Pia, piped up, “there is doom.” She giggled. “M’lady Whent promised a good story.”

Shella kept on arranging her fruit bowl. In a little while she would be finished, with each lemon curve cradled just right against each apple plumpness, and every pomegranate skin gleaming against the bowl’s porcelain rim. And after all that, Shella would hasten to depart Harrenhal. She had lions nearing her gates.

In a little while.

For now, she would arrange her fruit bowl, like she always did after breakfast. She would talk to herself like she always did, and tolerate the girl, the fool, chattering away in the shadows. 

“Once upon a time, I pricked myself with needles,” Pia went on. “Lots of times. Twas cause sometimes I get startled. I think I see some ghosts.” 

The sole lighted lamp, glowing damply against the weight of the cavernous chamber and the pre-dawn stillness, cast enough light so that Shella could see what the girl was doing. She was washing each fruit in a copper basin. Shella spared a thought to be glad that the girl was rather careful with drying the fruits before handing them to her. Pia did sew like each stitch was an afterthought. 

“In the beginning,” Shella told the pomegranate she was arranging, “Harrenhal was ruined. It all started there. It was ruined for the realm to be born.”

*

“No,” Minisa laughed, playfully sprinkling Shella’s face with the water for Minisa’s flowers. “No. Everything started with a beam of sunlight.”

“You wipe my face,” Shella grumped. 

Shella had just been betrothed to their cousin Walter from a younger line of House Whent, during a hearty raucous feast earlier that evening, and so Minisa had insisted on privately celebrating. Minisa’s idea had some merit, of course, because it did not involve so many people for Shella’s sake. But as everything to do with Minisa’s ideas, it also involved aggressively decorating Shella’s bedchamber with bunches of flowers.

Minisa’s hands were gentle as she dabbed at Shella’s cheeks, but her eyes were gleaming in the lamplight. “And then the Lake saw the Seven’s rainbow of light and let it ripple and shine all over the realm. Else how would you explain the rainbow array of flowers?”

“They wilt eventually,” Shella grumbled, and promptly punctuated with a satisfied bite on a peach. “Whatever is the use?”

“Oh Shella, you ray of sunshine,” Minisa laughed. She plucked a white orchid from the nearest vase and made to chase Shella with it, like a gentle flower-menace.

Shella warningly waved the last bite of her peach. “I’ll squirt this on your silks,” she said, but she didn’t really mean it.

When Minisa smiled odd little dents appeared on both of her cheeks. Shella used to tease her about it when they were little, and on one occasion had made Minisa cry. She had made Minisa’s face crumple whenever she opened her mouth throughout their childhood, and Minisa loved this particular yellow silk gown she was wearing, so Shella quickly finished her peach to show that she didn’t really mean it.

“To make your bedchamber picturesque, of course,” Minisa told her, still smiling. “That’s the use.”

There was nothing wrong with Shella’s bedchamber. 

A painted screen from the Summer Isles was illuminated by a magnificent lamp wrought in silver and ivory. There were carved oaken tables and chairs, and Myrish paintings hiding the ancient ghostly walls, and Shella’s own pieces of embroidery. And Minisa’s flowers. 

All the beauty had masked Harren’s charred stones, and all the warmth had swept away the more dreadful shadows.

Besides, it was as far from Lady Danelle Lothson’s previous chambers as could be. There were two guards by the door every night, and Shella never slept without a lamp lighted. Shella never looked under her bed.

“It’s pretty enough.”

“It’s satisfactory,” Minisa said.

They stared at each other then, Shella with her peach-stained wiping cloth, Minisa with the orchid dangling amongst her skirts.

“I’m sorry.” Minisa lowered her eyes. “I didn’t mean to – I know you will never leave Harrenhal, with the betrothal – ”

“That’s enough.” Softer, Shella continued, “Come here. Let me braid your hair.”

It had been quite some time since Minisa had sat by Shella’s feet, but she did now, gently but with a hint of awkwardness as she tried to fold her skirts about her at the same time that she tried to fold herself by Shella’s slippers.

Minisa was always gentle and awkward. It was Shella who had more of a lady’s bearing: of course this was to be expected of her as the heir. What her lord father and lady mother probably didn’t expect was Shella’s astounding ability to be in a constantly grumpy mood.

Shella ran her fingers through Minisa’s thick burgundy hair. “You should brush your hair a hundred times before bed.”

“I do. But you’re the one who should.”

“Who cares if the lady’s hair frizzes? Might be that frizzy hair will be the next fashion. You will thank me eventually.”

Minisa laughed. “Yours looks like a scrambled Arbor red.”

It was true, it was Minisa who had neat hair and who was careful not to stain her silks.

“Arbor red,” Shella mused. “Is that what you’d like?” Shella glanced around the lamplight and shadows in her bedchamber. It would be no different from the rest of Harrenhal. “To be wed to someone with sun and flowers? Arbor red. Perhaps a Redwyne, though I couldn’t think why. I hear the clime is lovely there. Or some other Riverlander. Well? Is it?”

Minisa’s reply was soft. “Yes.”

Then she cleared her throat, and with the faltering beat of a baby bat’s wings, continued, “And we would have gardens, my lord and I. And perhaps a barge. A modest one. I hear the queen has a magnificent barge in Blackwater Bay, but I’d be fine with a modest one. I’d love to boat by sunlit waters. I’d take my lord and mine’s sons boating. And there would be flowers and singing, perhaps hunting – but this would be on special days only. I don’t know as yet the incomes of the household –”

Minisa had such dreams, such nice and pretty dreams, and she was so gentle. Even when they were children and Shella had often made her cry, she still tottered determinedly after Shella.

Shella could see her gripping her silk-clad knees now, and a lady must not make her subjects cry, so Shella bit on her lip to stop herself from saying anything that might make Minisa cry.

Minisa could dream such nice and pretty dreams, and Shella hoped that this lord Minisa was talking about could live up to these dreams. What if there was to be a sudden conflict and they needed an alliance? What if he was old and indifferent? What if his castle didn’t have gardens? What if winter came and there would be no boating? But it was just like Minisa who picked flowers which would inevitably wilt.

For herself, Shella knew that it would not be so pretty. Shella dreamed of making Harrenhal pretty enough, of making less like a reminder that no House lasted in this lasting melted ruin. Of making it pretty enough so that unlike Shella, her heirs would not start to have fits of clammy nervousness at age six whenever they thought about their mortality. And for that she would need less than pretty years ahead. 

“If my lord and I could, we would host tourneys,” Minisa was going on. “Perhaps if my sons were grown they could be champions. They would be married to great ladies, or if not, then they could crown a princess with the wreath. Sun and flowers and singing and jousting –”

“I dislike tourneys,” Shella said in a flat voice. She couldn’t help it. She was nearly at the end of the braid. “I dislike the noise. Sometimes my cheeks ache from smiling so much.”

“All you ever want is to shut yourself in here and eat,” Minisa pointed out. “How can you ever make frizzy hair the next fashionable hair? That would have to start with you being popular, you know.”

*

“It started in this ruin. It also ended in this ruin. And I was right about the unnecessary noise and expenses.”

It had been noisy with singing, and laughter, and the flapping of a rainbow of banners from all over the realm. There was a blush amongst the gold of the sky, and in had been spring, and somehow there had been a small sort of comfort in Shella’s bosom, thinking that it was Minisa come again – 

Pia’s words sounded rough, as if she were chewing half of what she was saying. “I don’t mind the ruin. I’ve got lots of loves here, that I do, m’lady.”

Shella surveyed her fruit bowl. It would have to do. There were lions nearing her gates. 

Whirling, Shella pulled up her hood at the same time that she grabbed the fruit bowl. The arrangement crumbled.

“M – M’lady?”

Shella’s packed coin bag barely clinked as she strode to the door.

“Is m’lady leaving? There – there are ghosts here.”

Shella didn’t turn around. She secured the fruit bowl and laid a hand on one of Harren’s ruined walls. “All the more reason to feel safe, Pia. I wish I could stay.”

She did wish she could stay. She had found that out in the last fifteen years. 

Shella never saw the ghosts when it was daylight and she was awake. It was now a comfort to snuff out all the candles and all the light, to sit amongst the stone and shadows. It was now a comfort to glance under her bed, to play with the fruit seeds in so many empty fruit bowls, and think of it all: of her lord father’s and lady mother’s soft footsteps, of her husband’s whispered singing, of her children’s midnight food hunts, of Minisa’s gentle laughter. And when Shella dreamed of ghosts haunting her, it made her feel less weary. She dreamed of their ghosts revealing their existence to her, to assure her that she, too, would go on forever.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> When not scrambling for coursework deadlines or daydreaming about fics I'm short on time to write, I'm over at blotsandcreases.tumblr.com sighing happily at all the great things. :)


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